


Maybe Swooping Isn't So Bad, After All

by theRadioStarr



Series: The Lion Among the Wolves [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:57:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theRadioStarr/pseuds/theRadioStarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion piece to Capitolina Lupa, taking place during Chapter 36, 'Turned His Devotion Upon Her'</p><p>Alistair returns from Adamant Fortress as Liaison for the Grey Wardens of Orlais, and decides it's time he had a chance to get to know his son. Morrigan summons him to the Herald's Rest to 'talk.'</p><p>Prompted by /u/Ceranna on Reddit, in response to my master work. Cullen/Inquisitor is mentioned, but not the focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Swooping Isn't So Bad, After All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ceranna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceranna/gifts).



> I realized as I came back and re-read that this is hard to read as a stand-alone, because it relies heavily on events in my main story. I'd like to clarify that my Warden was a casteless dwarf with the default name, and my Inquisitor is a very strong elven mage with an affinity for storm and Dalish nature magic - hence the rainstorm and overgrown plants. This story takes place during the final Cullen lock-in romance scene in his office. 
> 
> I think that's all I needed to mention. Thanks for reading!

Alistair had been standing in front of his shaving glass for ten minutes, playing with his hair.

He wasn’t usually so conflicted; at some point a long time ago, he’d stopped spiking the peak up at the front of his hair and started pushing it back, instead. It was far more practical a solution when he spent sixteen hours a day in a full-faced helmet.

He reached up and tried again to spike it the way he used to, but it just looked silly now. How had he ever thought it looked good? He let out a huff as his fingers worked violently to smooth the unruly fringe back the way he usually kept it, and tried to tell himself to leave it well alone this time.

_But what if she thinks it looks better that way?_

Alistair actually smacked himself on the side of his face for that. Who ever said she preferred anything about him? She had only summoned him to talk; he could easily have read way too deeply between the lines, and shouldn’t be so nervous.

All she had told him was that they would talk. Not about what, even; just that they would. He imagined Kieran would come into it. Just thinking about the boy had him turning away from his shaving glass finally, a contented smile breaking Alistair’s grim countenance.

_My son._

He had never thought he’d get to have children, not after Eamon had been made to send him to the Chantry. But then it was time to face down the Archdemon, and Natia was trying to convince him that she could make sure they all lived…

He remembered that night like it was yesterday.

That first time, his very first time, with _Morrigan_ , of all people. At first he had agreed because it meant they wouldn’t have to sacrifice themselves to the Archdemon, but the more he thought on it, the more eager he had been to see it through. It was that night that he stopped lying to himself and accepted the fact that he was hopelessly infatuated with the witch. There was something so attractive about her wild, self-assured power, the way nothing ever seemed to faze her, the way she simply oozed self-confidence.

Ritualistic hate-fucking was something Alistair was glad to be able to check off his ‘weird sex things’ list, but if he ever said he didn’t enjoy himself, he’d be lying.

He shook his head to dislodge the memories and went back to thinking about Kieran as he reached into his wardrobe. The boy was almost a spitting image of his mother; Alistair was sure it was thanks to the magic she used to make sure he would exist, but Kieran’s eyes were _his_. It was like looking into a glass, and instead of the fear he had expected, it had filled him with… pride. Protectiveness. Some strange warm feeling he was unfamiliar with that made him realize he’d face down another ten Archdemons just to get the boy a book, or something equally ridiculous – nevermind if he was actually in _danger_.

He supposed, as he pulled on a pair of pants, that this was what _parental_ love felt like. He wasn’t exactly an expert on things related to love, but he had no idea what else it could be, and it felt… good.

He frowned as he grabbed the only shirt he owned that wasn’t either armour or layers for under armour. Leliana had given it to him before they left for the Approach, telling him he needed to expand his wardrobe and add something fancy to it.

 _You’ll be the envy of royalty, Ali,_ she had told him with a wink and a giggle. He shook his head again as he pulled it on, deep maroon velvet with fancy silver clasps in the front from the bottom hem all the way up to the top of the high collar.

The least he could do was look presentable, even if this wasn’t more than just a ‘talk.’

Once he was done clasping everything together and pulling on his boots, he moved in front of his full-length looking glass to make sure everything was in place properly. Reasonably confident that he didn’t look like a complete fool, he took one last deep, steadying breath and walked quickly out of his room, closing the door behind him softly.

He crossed the grounds quickly, the velvet not doing much to protect him from the cold, and slipped into the tavern only a few minutes later. It seemed to be a lively night; there were soldiers all over the place, their laughter loud and attitudes boisterous. Alistair shoved his way past one group to check the back wall for Morrigan.

The Bull’s Chargers were there with Varric and Blackwall, their collective laughter booming.

“Hey, Cheesy!” Varric called out. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Whatever it is, it looks good on you,” Krem winked at him, and the crowd roared. “Your armour works for you too, Alistair, but you really do clean up well.”

Alistair grinned. “Well, see, it’s the last thing my dead mother ever gave me…”

“I call bullshit,” Bull laughed. “Who is she?”

Alistair shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he told them. “Maker only knows if I read her right.”

“Well, she went upstairs, Cheesy. You’re not the only one lookin’ good tonight, and that’s all I’ll say,” Varric told him solemnly.

Alistair nodded his thanks and turned around for the stairs. There was no point in hesitating, in prolonging the uncomfortable anticipation that had been knawing at his stomach all afternoon. He took the steps one at a time, and when he reached the top, he was surprised by how dark it was; there was only one other couple to his right, the two young elves from the Inquisitor’s now almost extinct Clan, and a single candle was lit on the table between them. He stood and watched them for a few seconds before twisting to try to find-

“Well, well… what have we here?”

Her voice always sent shivers down his spine – so deep and sulty, but still so feminine – and he watched in awe as another candle lit up to break the darkness, the subtle light revealing Morrigan’s location in the corner off to his left. He stepped slowly towards her, taking the time to get a good look at her.

Morrigan always was different from the norm; she was possibly the only person in Thedas who looked more attractive with more clothes on. He was so used to seeing almost all of her torso in those robes of hers that the soft silk of the navy blue, long-sleeved dress she was wearing sent a lick of heat through Alistair when he had to _imagine_ what she looked like under there, instead of just seeing it.

He couldn’t help but follow the deep scoop of her neckline, catching sight of her delicate collarbones as she flipped her hair over her shoulders and following them up to the soft skin of her long neck; he wanted nothing more than to listen to the way she would moan at him as he gently bit at her jumping pulse-

“Are you going to continue to stare at me, or are you going to sit?”

Alistair shook himself. “I’m sorry, I just…” He had no excuse, but he slid into the seat across from her, eyes never leaving her as she tipped her chin _just so_ , and he bit back a helpless groan. Why couldn’t he just grow up and think straight?

She poured him a glass of wine, and then pushed a cheese platter towards him by an inch as she handed him the glass. “Orlesian red. I seem to recall that you are a fan of cheese?”

“Oh, Morrigan, you know me so well.” He picked up a tiny wedge of cheese and bit into it delicately (or at least not like a savage, he hoped) before swirling his wine in his glass, breathing deeply over it to capture the aroma and taking a small sip.

“Clearly not well enough to know that you’re capable of putting on something other than armour,” she answered, “or cultured enough to know how to drink wine properly. ‘Tis a strange sight, indeed, though not an unpleasant one.”

“Says the one who grew up in a hut in the Wilds,” he teased, and was surprised when Morrigan laughed instead of hexing him for his comment.

“I suppose Orlais had done good for both of us,” she commented before snapping a grape on the edge of the cheese plate from its vine and popping it into her mouth, chewing slowly. Her makeup was done exactly the same as always, eyes and lips painted in a deep reddish purple, but her loose hair started to fall forward over her shoulders again, all big waves and curls from the tight knot she usually kept it in.

“Kieran greatly enjoyed your time with him earlier,” Morrigan continued after a few seconds of silence. “I don’t know when you must leave, but perhaps you’d like to take some time each day to spend with him?”

“I was planning to do that already,” Alistair told her. “I’ve basically set myself up as the Warden liaison to the Inquisition, so I should be able to stay here indefinitely.”

“We… will not,” Morrigan told him, her expression almost pained, “but we will make the most of the time we are here.”

“Is that so?” Alistair asked her with a raised brow. She smirked back dangerously at him, her yellow-orange feline eyes shining mischievously in the dim candlelight, and Alistair swallowed thickly. He needed to change the subject. “Where is Kieran now?”

“Leliana and Josephine offered to keep an eye on him tonight,” Morrigan answered, shifting to cross her legs and tipping her chin again as she did so. This was so not _fair_ , the witch, she knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

Alistair cleared his throat and stared at the cheese plate for a few seconds to regain his composure. “You, um… you wanted to talk?”

Morrigan laughed kindly at him. “I wanted to get caught up, Alistair.”

Her voice was pure seduction, just a little throaty and a few notes lower than ususal, and Alistair couldn’t help but look up again to meet her eyes. He was honestly surprised to see fire in them to meet his own.

Oh, he wanted her – so badly – but he was going to draw this out. Neither of them was going to give in quite so soon.

“Well, then,” Alistair finally said, sitting back and hooking his elbow on the back of his seat, “how have you been?”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Morrigan giggled girlishly as Alistair rose and presented her a hand to help her out of her seat. She placed her hand gently in his, and felt her pulse quicken at the feeling of his calloused warrior hands against her softer, slender fingers.

“Did you just _giggle?”_ he asked, incredulously.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered, but couldn’t get rid of her smirk as he let her hand go and offered his arm, instead. She took it immediately, and Alistair directed her to the top floor of the tavern, where they could come out onto the walls.

She was about to ask why they didn’t leave through the front door when he spoke up. “I thought we might have an easier time of escaping this way. Bull has his entire company and then some down there drinking, plus half of Cullen’s army was there when I came in.”

“And you learned how to use your brain. Astounding,” she quipped, leaning on him for just a second, and he chuckled. The sound went right through her in a shock.

They walked quietly along the wall until they reached a set of steps down. Morrigan took in a deep breath, and was about to say something when Alistair stole the words from her.

“That’s weird,” he commented. “Smells like rain.”

Morrigan remembered that Alistair was always bad at recognizing magic unless it was being cast right in front of his face.

“It is… not natural,” Morrigan agreed, “but I believe it is harmless.”

“You’re sure?” Alistair asked her.

“I believe it is the Inquisitor’s fault,” Morrigan clarified.

“Why would she be trying to make it rain?”

Morrigan didn’t answer right away. She was distracted by all the other sensations that were reaching her – of hands ghosting over bare skin, of shining sweat, of desire so strong it could break her.

A wild cry pierced the night, from the direction of the Commander’s office, and Morrigan shivered. It was only partially from the cold. “I do not think she is actively trying to.”

Alistair’s face flushed. He may not have understood what was happening, but he must have been feeling the effects of the Inquisitor’s euphoria, too. “Was that… was that scream what I think it was?”

“It’s about time,” Morrigan commented and started to step forward again, forcing Alistair to continue with her.

The grass under their feet was overgrown and the walls were covered in vines – further evidence that the Inquisitor no longer had any control over herself, and her aura was more far-reaching than Morrigan knew was possible. Of course, it wouldn’t be until the morning that she would realize it; she was far too distracted at the moment.

Alistair took over leading her, and when she became aware of her surroundings again, they were in the gardens. The sensations riding through the Inquisitor’s aura were softer here, nothing more than a tiny suggestion, but Morrigan didn’t need it anymore.

Alistair let her go, and she watched him walk away toward a rose bush. She took the chance to admire the way his form was cut, to remember the strength of him, still fresh in her mind after all those years, and her stomach dropped, settling in a pool of heat behind her navel.

He bent to pull a small knife from his boot, and Morrigan resisted the urge to cross over to him to pinch his rear, which stuck up in the air for a moment. She could wait another short while, and contented herself with the knowledge that there was a good chance she would be able to leave marks so deep in his skin that he’d have bruises.

He stood up straight again and started to strip the barbs from the stem of a deep red rose, its petals fanned out in an intricate swirl. When he was done, he stepped carefully back over to her.

“Every time I see roses, they make me think of you,” Alistair admitted quietly, voice low. “People are afraid to go after a wild rose, scared of the thorns and barbs. But if they’d just give them a chance, they could slowly peel away the thorns and find the true beauty of them,” he stepped closer and tucked it behind her ear, playing with her hair to hold it in place. “They could get close enough to pick up the heady scent of them, to appreciate just how delicate they truly are-”

Morrigan had heard enough – he was so close, and all she needed to do was stand a little bit taller-

Their lips came together softly for a few seconds, and then she dropped back down onto flat feet with a contented sigh. They may have had a son together, but she had never kissed him before. He had been so naïve, so inexperienced, he probably didn’t know how weird it was that they _hadn’t_ , but she had been trying so hard to appear unaffected by him all those years ago, and had regretted it ever since.

His eyes stayed closed for a second longer, and then he opened them wide in shock to look at her. They stayed there, charged for another five seconds or so, and then he suddenly had his arms around her, crushing her close, his lips connecting with hers almost painfully this time.

Morrigan chuckled into him, and then his lips parted and his tongue found her lower lip. She knew what he wanted, and she opened to him immediately. He tasted a little like honeyed wine still, but she could taste him under it, and she drew in a sharp breath, tilting her head so she could kiss him deeper, hoping beyond hope that they would never have to come apart.

They did, of course, after about a minute, both breathing hard and staring hungrily at each other. Their silence lingered for another half a minute before it was broken by a deafening clap of thunder, and a torrent of rain.

Alistair swore, and then he grabbed her hand and they ran back into the main hall. He slowed once they were out of the rain, and then they laughed as he directed her somewhere.

He pushed open a door only minutes later, and Morrigan realized they were in his private quarters.

“How presumptuous of you,” she purred, dropping a shoulder so the strap of her dress would fall off. She forgot the rain had made it sticky against her skin, so she prowled over to the bed instead, using her magic to dry her dress and hair before slowly tilting back to lay on it. His scent was all around her, and she was so ready, had waited years for this, and wasn’t even angry that he had led her back here.

He shook his head and followed her over. “Says the woman who just splayed herself on my bed.”

“You know, Alistair,” Morrigan answered, tilting her head to expose her neck, “you should stop talking.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

He was standing over her, and she arched her chest up subtly. He didn’t miss the movement. “There are better uses for that mouth of yours.”

 

*                             *                             *

 

Alistair panted as Morrigan collapsed over him, the silence in the room ringing. It was cold; he understood better how the Inquisitor had managed to conjure a thunderstorm when Morrigan had cried out and convulsed around him, and the walls of his room had coated over with a thick layer of ice.

She propped herself up on her elbows over him, and he sucked in a short breath at the movement. She laughed, and he squirmed; he was still buried deep in her, and still terribly sensitive, but the sensation was keeping him from falling asleep.

She kissed him again softly, and he responded eagerly. His mind wandered as she laid back down on top of him, her breath tickling his neck, and he recalled all of their time together during the Blight fondly - the only good that had come from that wretched time.

He was so lost in his memories that he didn’t notice her get up and lean over him again. “’Tis strange to see you so lost in thought, Alistair.”

He came back to the present and tipped his hips up, making her whimper this time. She sat up straight, towering over him, and his hands instantly went to whatever part of her he could reach as he drank in the sight of her. She was a dangerous, dark beauty, with creamy skin sharply contrasted by her dark, blue-black hair and purple stained lips. He almost wondered that she wasn’t some Chasind goddess.

 _His_ Chasind goddess.

“What are you thinking?” she asked curiously.

Alistair grinned and sat up, making Morrigan readjust to sit more comfortably with him. He kissed her softly again.

“I was thinking… maybe swooping isn’t so bad, after all.”

Morrigan looked at him, confused, for only a moment before laughing heartily, the walls of her core pressing against him. She cut off with a moan when she felt him respond, and he dragged her back down, still not convinced that they had finished making up for lost time.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I actually really struggled with this. Alistair and Morrigan are intimidating to write. 
> 
> Sorry it took so long, Ceranna. Hope it's everything you wanted!


End file.
